The Mending and Sewing of the Soul
by SandStonesSilk
Summary: The story following Loki after he falls through the abyss and makes his way through Jotunheim. Slight Loki/Thor.  Reviews and feedback are very much appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

He treaded through the snow, his path illuminated only by the pale glow of moonlight. All around him the woods was silent, ominously so. Every step he took, if it were to do as little as snap a twig, would cause him to turn sharply and look about. Loki was in Frost Giant territory, that much he knew; he had been through the realm many times on one misguided journey or another on his brother's behalf. The difference now was that he was on his own and no army of Asgardian soldiers would rush to his rescue if he were to be captured. Even if that were the case, surely they would not arrive in time if he were found by a troop of Frost Giants. They would want nothing more than to snap his neck in two after he had destroyed more than half of their kingdom, he would have destroyed it all if he could. Revenge and malice was all that they had left, Loki could understand. He trudged on through the night, playing out various such worst-case scenarios which kept him awake and alert.

It was cold enough for him to see his breath and already he had lost all sensation to his fingers. Loki wondered how long it would be before he found a place to take shelter, or when his search would be ended by a less fortunate stroke of fate. He tried to suppress his bitterness, wanting to blame it on the frost and his aching feet, on anything other than his own failures and miscalculations. He should have insured himself with alternatives; in case Thor managed to return from Earth, in case Odin awoke too soon, in case he was double crossed by Laufey. But he had gotten ahead of himself; he could call it optimism or mere recklessness, either way it was over now. The battle had been fought and lost, and who was he to think that he could stand against Thor in a fist fight? He could have used a spell, it would not be trickery but simply a way of evening out the playing field against the brute's Mjolnir, at least then he could have had a chance – what did it matter now, replaying those demeaning scenes in his mind?

Loki sighed, a scowl crossing his face. He was hardly in the right mindset for a trek through a feral forest such as this. Loki wondered if he was the first creature on two legs to ever cross this path, it looked as nature does when it has not yet been touched by the hand of civilization. With some difficulty, his slender body weaved past the branches, looking up at the sky every so often, using the stars as his compass. Loki considered whether or not the bifrost bridge could ever be rebuilt, or if the Asgardians would be confined to their own realm for good. Of course there were other ways to travel between worlds, he in fact had studied the subject for years. At first it had only been a thirst for knowledge that urged him on, he had not imagined that it would be a tool in a plot bordering on treason.

His train of thoughts was suddenly broken as he heard a rustling ahead of him, he sensed that something was approaching and it sent the adrenalin rushing through his veins. The deity tried in vain to collect himself and decide his next move, whether to flee or hide. Loki chose to hide, it was difficult to judge whether he would be able to outrun whatever it was that was coming closer by the second. He lowered himself to the ground and pressed his back to a broad tree trunk, hoping that it would conceal him. Loki held his breath, his jaws clenched, waiting.

Heavy footsteps moved stealthily through the foliage, almost soundlessly. Loki gulped, his eyes wild and frantic with fear. The shadow loomed closer and he could tell that the pivotal moment would soon come. Loki's thoughts were already leaning towards accepting the fate of prey as he drew a tense breath of air. No sooner did he do so that a flash of darkness darted across his line of vision, a firm grip clasping onto his wrists and pinning him to the ground. He could suddenly feel the weight of another body atop of him and a pair of fiery red eyes staring him down. The Frost Giant breathed heavily like an angry bull, a savage animal before ripping flesh from bone. Loki was too frightened to scream or even to squirm, if he could think rationally he would agree as to how futile it would be, in the depths of the forest. All he could do now was pray that the other would not recognize him as the dethroned Asgardian ruler responsible for the destruction of the realm. He felt despicable, not being able to defend himself as Thor would, placed at the mercy of an odious creature.

"You-you are Loki," the Frost Giant hissed, his face inches from his captive's. Loki could feel the its breath against his skin, nothing was more unnerving. Oh how he loathed the irony of it all. He had to concentrate, he had to think fast. These were the crucial moments between life and death.

"No brother, you are mistaken," spoke Loki, trying to control his tone as not to reveal fear. Slowly the pigment of his skin turned to a corpse-like shade of blue, his sapphire eyes matching those of the other male's sinister gaze.

The Frost Giant was taken aback by the transformation, causing him to momentarily loosen his grip on Loki's wrists. The God of Mischief took his chance, slamming his knee into the other's groin and shoving him off with all of his remaining strength. Perhaps it was not the way of combat for an honorable Asgardian warrior, but who was he to play fair? His deception and wit was all that he had to make up for his scrawny build. Without a moment to lose, Loki pulled out a dagger and aimed for the main artery of the Frost Giant's throat. Meanwhile the beast writhed on the ground in pain while trying to grab hold of his prisoner, further fueled with rage that he had let his guard down. Loki's attacker managed to dodge the blows made by very quivering hands and was already scrambling to his feet. Loki knew that this was his cue to flee. He darted through the forest as fast as his legs would carry him, trying to recover quickly as he stumbled over rocks and roots in the darkness of the night. The moon was now covered by a heavy fog, making it more difficult to see. Loki hoped that it would also help conceal him from the enemy.

The Frost Giant was gaining on him_, even as he created mirages in attempts to dis_may him he was still reluctant to slow down in his pursuit. The creature kept his eyes locked on the figure that was Loki, ignoring the identical replicas that weaved passed him, turning to smoke as he reached through them. Words that could only have been curses were heard, uttered in the foreign tongue of the creature. Loki just kept running, he could not afford to look back. Already he was out of breath and weary, it was his instinct for survival that drove him on. Suddenly he sensed that the forest was still, hearing nothing but distant bird calls. He paused, feeling unusually dizzy; his legs were unsteady as the trees seemed to spin around him – a sharp pain shot through his neck. Then darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Loki's body ached all over and he was pained by a deathly headache when at last he awoke. It was still night, he must have been unconscious for but a few hours. He was not cold, at the very least, being bundled by two heavy blankest of sheep's wool. To his surprise, Loki found himself in a cave of sorts, with the Frost Giant tending to a campfire its entrance. A tantalizing smell was coming from whatever was being roasted on the creature's skewer, possibly some native species of bird that had not one neck but two. Loki hesitated before he moved, realizing that he was, after all, a prisoner. Yet somehow much of the fear and tension had evaporated; for one, he was not yet dead, therefore leaving him with opportunities for escape.

"Are you hungry?" the Frost Giant spoke in his deep raspy tone, breaking Loki from his thoughts. He did not turn to look at him but kept prodding at the flames, throwing in another twig.

"Well I suppose I could have-"

"Then you must speak, if you wish to be fed."

Loki could not help but feel insulted, the other was insinuating that he was some sort of dependant, like a slave, like a pet, who was powerless to survive on its own in such wilderness. Instead of performing tricks he was meant to divulge information, how quaint. Loki was well aware, however, that it may certainly be true. He was neither a hunter nor a warrior and had had little experience surviving against the elements; when such opportunities presented themselves he had often counted on Thor or the Warriors Three to catch the meals on their expeditions. Yes he was starving, his growling stomach would not let him rest.

"You have the form of both an Asgardian and a Frost Giant," the Frost Giant went on, "And you lurk about my forest, at night, alone. Who are you and what is your motive for going about in the guise of Loki?"

He fought to suppress a smile, the other thought it was a mere guise due to the transformation which had helped stall his capture. It meant that he had never seen a Frost Giant who took on a human form naturally. The God of Mischief thought for a moment, considering his next words carefully. Luckily news from Asgard had not yet reached this creature, perhaps he knew not of the destruction that took place all around him. It seemed that the Frost Giant lived in splendid isolation in this forest of his, what was he then? A hermit or an exiled warrior? The brand on his shoulder marked him as a warrior. He could not possibly be part of a patrol or else he would have been travelling with a group, at least in a pair. Yet he was alone. What was it then, the conclusion he could make about his captor? He was most likely exiled, or else in hiding, therefore he too may have something to conceal.

"I am a sorcerer who has escaped as a prisoner from Asgard, I had tried to return in time to warn our people of the attack, using the semblance of the Odin's son to disguise me," Loki answered, his voice trembling with a feigned sense of tragedy. "Yet it seems that I have come too late."

"What is the attack which you speak of? the Frost Giant's interest was piqued.

"The only land that remains untouched is mainly on the outskirts, entire villages have been wiped out with few survivors," Loki went on, in the back of his mind he hoped that his shocking bit of information would be enough to distract the isolate from further questioning his identity; a trespasser of the Giant's most abhorred enemy.

"Do you speak the truth? How could so much damaged possibly be done in such a short period of time?" asked the creature, gritting his teeth as he put out the fire. Loki watched it hiss furiously into writhing black smoke as a bucket of water was poured onto the flames.

"Little has been heard but I shall tell you what I know," the Asgardian prince stifled a cough, beginning to feel rather apprehensive about weaving further lies or burdens onto the Frost Giant's already emotion fueled state. One slip of the tongue and his whole defence would unravel. Ultimately he went on to share the bulk of what had happened, though not so much that would arouse suspicion. As a prisoner, he could not have been so thoroughly informed, but he may as well tell the Frost Giant the general story that would reach his ears in due time. Perhaps it would allow him to deter distrust, Loki hoped, by boldly placing the blame on himself, the man whose 'disguise' he carried.

The Frost Giant sat in silence as he was told of the events, possibly in mourning of a relative or for the vast devastation of the land itself. Loki wondered if the creature would hold true to his deal and share a ration of food, stealing ravenous glances at it against his better judgment. In any case, it soon would not matter as the plucked bird was almost burned to a crisp. Clearly the Giant had lost his appetite and had left it to turn to ashes. Loki joined him in his reverent silence, bowing his head in a show of respect, before shuffling back to his spot in the cave. He was careful not to disturb the other's contemplation as he pulled the blankets over himself, the urge to sleep was taking hold of him after the long journey. It had drained him both physically and mentally, his nerves being constantly on edge. He had to rest, he had to escape.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The next morning Loki awoke to find that the Frost Giant and any evidence of him was gone, all but the ashes of the fire. He did not know if he would ever see him again but he could not help but feel a pang of pity for whatever his losses were. Loki could sympathize in a way, they both remembered a kingdom to which they could not return to.

Loki kept moving, wanting to cover as much distance as he could before night fell again. His stomach burned in hunger and he hoped that he would find food soon. At times he considered an attempt at hunting but was quite certain that his skills and his tools were not up to the task. But perhaps he could use his abilities as a Frost Giant. An opportunity presented itself as he noticed a bird perched on a low branch, eyeing him with curiosity. With a swift movement of the arm, he coated it with a layer of ice, making it fall to the ground like a rock. Loki crouched closer to it, half surprised that it had actually worked. He could see the pitiful creature's eye darting about in panic while its fragile limbs were frozen and immobile within the block of ice. Loki bit his lip, feeling rather cruel at the present moment. Even in his starved state, the bird he had used for target practice seemed less than appetizing. First he would have to wait for it to thaw, then pluck its tiny feathers, and lastly pick out what little meat there would be between all its needle-thin bones. He would have to leave the unfortunate thing to a slow and painful death, Loki had few alternatives, but at least he was left with a greater sense of security. His powers could come to be useful. As for the matter of food, he would have to settle for snow and shriveled berries, at worst.

After what felt like three continuous hours of walking, Loki arrived at a clearing in the woods. He then found himself a fallen log on which to sit and rest his legs, brushing off the layer of snow that coated it. For a second he had a lurching feeling that he had made a full circle to the clearing in which he was dropped from the abyss. But no, the arrangement of rocks, trees, and stumps was significantly different, he decided after studying them closely, the clearing was smaller too. He could rest at ease.

He then began to wonder if it would have been better if he really did return to where he first awoke. Then the Asgardians would have a better chance of finding him, given that they had found an alternative way to travel between worlds. Or rather, given that they were looking for him. Where did he stand in the eyes of his people? As Thor's treacherous brother, never to be seen or heard from again, so he thought. Perhaps they believed him to be mad with vengeance and dangerous, already devising a plot for revenge. Loki could almost laugh, at the present his fist priority was surviving. And who was he to play the role of a vindictive villain when even destroying all of Asgard would bring him no satisfaction. He did feel a fair amount of hate towards Thor and his so called father, but he did not want them dead. Did they wish him dead? he wondered. No, just out of the way.

Loki thought back to the moment he told Odin what he had done, precariously holding on to Thor's hammer as they both hung over the ledge. Of course Odin would appear the moment Thor was in danger, fate always looked out for Thor, in fact it spoiled him rotten. At first Loki rationalized his disapproval of Thor taking the throne because his brother was not yet ready for such a role; he was arrogant and rash to wage wars for which whole nations would pay. Yet the God of Mischief understood that it was more jealousy than reason that drove him. Somehow, Thor going on a life-altering journey of personal growth to earn his birthright, and in the process finding the love of his life in a humble mortal, felt infinitely worse. It made Loki's own misfortunes appear fair and just. All he could do to comfort himself was to believe that because he had lost everything, he now had nothing to lose. He as a free man.

He knew that starting a new life was the path for him, instead of hoping to return to Asgard to beg forgiveness until the end of time. No, he had had enough groveling for one lifetime, maybe even for two. But then he thought of his brother, the memories of their past could not be erased as easily as a slate. Thro did not want him to let go, Loki could see it in his eyes when he let his fingers slip from the handle of the hammer, they were almost begging him. Then again, who knew, sometimes one sees what they want to see.

Loki thought back to the dream he had the prior night. He found it quite strange, even to remember it so lucidly. Everyone he knew from Asgard was frozen in time as a child; Thor was there, he was talking and laughing as boisterously as always with a group gathered around him. It looked to be a celebration of sorts inside a palace of glass. Loki approached one person and then another, though they took little notice of him, perhaps they could not see him at all, until he reached the towering window at the far end of the hall. Outside of the palace was a thick black fog looming over a forest, attempting to conceal a gathering of Frost Giants in the process of building something. Loki squinted his eyes but he still could not see what it was.

The God of Mischief turned from the window and pushed his way through the crowd. By then the jubilant atmosphere of the party was escalating and many of the guests had aged into adulthood. Drinks were severed liberally and the volume of their voices grew to a deafening roar. Loki felt very much out of place and he could sense Thor's gaze upon him, making him uneasy. As he searched for the staircase leading out of the great hall, he could not overlook that most of the crowd had lost a few layers of clothing since he had last gazed at them. At last he found his escape, wondering for a moment why he felt such an urgency to leave. Loki looked around for Thor but he was nowhere to be seen. With a pang of hesitation he at last began his descent down the stairs, leaving the booming gathering behind. He felt a heavy silence surround him as the hall grew narrow, yet he did not stop until he reached the black fog, fitting his body between the two walls.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Outside of the palace was the familiar dense forest of pines, appearing as foreboding as ever. Still, Loki felt himself drawn to it; he saw that it was his duty to uncover the contraption being built by the Frost Giants, with the sort of puzzling clarity only possible in dreams. He walked into the woods, his pace increasing until he was at a sprint. Loki's path was clear and trees rushed passed him, appearing as peripheral blurs of colour. It was only a matter of time before he reached the creatures, hunched over an indistinct form that lay on the ground. Loki stepped closer and the Giants moved out of his way in a manner that signified either fear or reverence. What had they built? There was nothing but a carcass, a rotting carcass of what looked to be a large animal. It did not resemble what he thought he saw from the palace, not in the least. He gazed down at it in puzzlement. A cloud of fog loomed over the moldering matter and weaved itself between the dead animal's ribs, turning into gray flesh. Loki staggered back, his hands over his mouth. The smell of decay was becoming overwhelming, he could feel his stomach lurch.

Marrow, veins, flesh, skin. Cell by cell a body was being resurrected. Loki's unwavering gaze was fixed on the ritual before him as the creature's thick black fur and glazed amber eyes took shape, last but not least. By then the Frost Giants had disappeared, though he had not seen them leave. He could identify it clearly now, the beast which had brought him there: a black lion with blazing eyes of fire, its open jaw revealing a set of jagged white teeth. It snarled at him, moving closer, its tail lashing. Before Loki could react it pounced on top of him, levering off the ground with its powerful hind legs, slamming his body into the earth. Quite literally, he could feel the soil underneath him give way as they both plummeted into an abyss. The temperature around Loki seemed to rise until it the air was uncomfortably hot and dry, though less than scorching. However, what surprised him most was that he felt no pain, in fact, the ground on which he landed seemed almost soft as a cushion.

Loki dared to open his eyes; he looked to find that his heart and his lungs had been torn out in a gaping hole in his chest, his ribs jutting out like teeth. He lay on a bed of red silk sheets with Thor on top of him, pinning him down. Loki tried to move but his limbs were not his own, the sensation was of being trapped in one's own body. He tired to speak but his voice would not be heard, at which point a rush a panic spread over him. This was the climax in a dream when one ought to awake, the God thought, his eyes gazing up. Thor merely smiled at him, pushing Loki's ribs back into place as if he were closing a box with many clasps.

Loki gasped in pain; the other's body weighed down upon him, making it difficult to breathe. All that he could do was wait in anxious anticipation as the events of the dream began to unfold. Loki had not dared to allow himself the prediction of what came next. Thor went on to kiss him on the neck, moving down to his collar bone, and then to his exposed belly. They were gentle kisses, neither passionate nor entirely disinterested. Loki then realized that all of his clothes had vanished and he suddenly felt fearful and vulnerable but at the same time he fought an uncontrollable urge to burst out laughing at all the surrounding madness. It made the conflicts within him all the more frustrating. He was aware that it was only a dream, in all its absurdity, and if he willed it he could take the reins of it. Yet a part of him clung on to Thor, not wanting him to leave. The other's strong hands tracing the contours of his body, warming him until at last Loki was able to move.

He felt both disgust and desire because he knew that this was his own creation. Loki had control of it now but he could not bring himself to banish it. He grabbed Thor by his long locks of blond and pulled him closer, their lips meeting in a kiss. Meanwhile Loki's hand wandered down the man's powerful back while the other pressed him closer at the hips. He allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment and enjoy the other's warmth, finding it soothing as he thought back to the memory of treading through banks of snow amid the Jotunheim pines. Those memories were receding into the distance, as if they had been the dream and this was the reality. How he preferred this strange surreal world to the one he already knew too well. There had been too many souls united against him, though their ambitions differed, and he saw their workings inside out. Pride, wrath, honour , vengeance and power were indeed difficult things to balance when playing the puppeteer. There had always been that little whisper telling him that Odin, Laufey, and even Thor would choose to act against him and would ultimately succeed. Not this Thor of course, the one he held in his arms. The world of his mind was far more unpredictable. Far more agreeable. The characters of his mind changed roles with the same ease as the God of Mischief himself. The concerned brother, the devoted son, the courageous warrior, the treacherous rival, the villain, all costumes to be used at his whim.

How nauseating, Loki thought, to be stranded in perfect bliss with nothing left to fight for. Complete submission to fate. He felt Thor's arms wrapping around his slender body and gripping him tight in an almost suffocating hold. He struggled to escape, his nails digging into Thor's back to cause him to let go, allowing scarlet droplets of blood to trickle down its arch. Thor's body began to melt, his limbs disintegrating into thick black ooze that seeped into the covers of the bed and into Loki's skin accompanied by a burning sensation. The pain was more than he could stand but still his voice would not return, leaving him to bear it in silence as he bit his lip and forced his eyes shut. He could hear voices in the distance which further urged on his panic. Then, as if made of rotting wood, the bed collapsed and Loki was sent falling into another pit of darkness, engulfed by the sound of howling screams.

He awoke, finding himself back in the cave, surrounded by crisp white snow.

His dream had been a tangle of lust and fear and he fought to put it out of his memory.

Flakes had begun to fall from the murky sky, marking the start of a turbulent blizzard. Loki could feel the chill right to his bones.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Loki shut his eyes for a moment, urging himself to concentrate. He did not have the time to spare on idle daydreams, soon night would fall and he had yet to find a place to take shelter, an ongoing search while traveling through foreign land day by day. As he heaved himself off the frozen log he could not help but feel a pang of despair; it had become the norm for him to be at conflict with his hopeful and fatalistic side regarding the likelihood of survival, making him decisive yet volatile. In his better moods he would tell himself that he ought to keep walking, just a few more steps and a point of civilization would be reached. It would be far easier for him to make sense of matters when surrounded by beings whose fickle nature may be used to his advantage, in light of the unforgiving savage that is the wilderness. At the worst of times it felt as if he were merely prolonging an inevitable fate, the fate which presents itself to one who has committed treason.

The guilt would run circles around his mind, the same dire scenarios whenever it was allowed to drift. Loki found it amusing that the guilt came from both betraying his brother and his father as well as not being able to adequately do so. If he had not attempted it, his situation may have been more bearable, if he had succeeded it may have been better still, out of spite alone he could not bring himself to ask forgiveness. The cold and the hunger were easier to tolerate if they were assigned to the wrongdoings of his enemies than to his own errors. How ridiculous it once seemed to Loki, how petty, childish even, that he should envy Thor. A brute. Yet it is the need of every rational being to feel that they are of worth, that good and evil are punished and rewarded, or rather, that they ought to be. And if ever such a just and rightful balance does not come to be one begins to question the hand of fate, and if the motivation be strong enough, a man would have no choice but to take matters of fate into his own hands.

Yet even at the present, the manipulation, plotting, and deception which took place to realize Loki's personal quest for order seemed to have sprouted from an emotion spiraling out of control. At times his motives appeared noble to his critical conscience, at others, selfish, nevertheless they were enough to entice him into action and relieve the frustration which plagued him since childhood. Out of the Seven Deadly Sins, Odin had been chosen by Pride, so Loki had decided, Thor by Wrath, Freyja by Lust, Volstagg by Gluttony, and the God of Mischief himself, by Envy. Sloth, however, embraced all of the warriors and peasants who blindly yet honorably served Asgard, their thirst not wandering to victories above their station.

Walking past the pines, Loki struggled to keep himself awake and alert, hunger and fatigue already sweeping over him. The clearing, it held evidence of being a well trodden area and the trees surrounding it had only recently been chopped down. The survey of the land gave him hope that civilization was near, that the giants travelled through the area. Loki would wait, crouching behind a snow covered boulder, allowing himself a clear view of the area as well as a suitable place to hide. Meanwhile he massaged his hands and shuffled his feet every now and then to keep his extremities from freezing, he would not allow frostbite to be the end of him.

Hours passed, one after another. Loki allowed himself to lean against the rock and close his eyes, forcing them open if ever he began to drift too deeply into sleep. It would be a dangerous thing, to place himself at the mercy of the ice and snow. The turbulent wind would shake off the flakes from the evergreen needles and sprinkle his already damp hair, or else land on his skin, melting into droplets. His nose, ears, and cheeks were turned ruddy from the cold crisp air, it would bring him some delight to breathe it in, reminding him of the peaceful solitude he once craved. A splendid isolation in a land unspoiled by the hand of man and his ambitions.

The wind did rage with a greater intensity, marked by the shrill cry of a raven flying from a branch. Its voice startled Loki into attention, like a sentry announcing a raid, a fallen comrade. The gusts of wind did not extend their writhing and howling gradually, as would have been natural, but against the flow of the forest, causing small creatures to scurry to their burrows with haste. Fallen branches and snow were raised from where they lay, the wind flinging them at Loki as if in aggravation. The God of Mischief crouched lower, covering his head with his hands until the worst of the turmoil had come to pass.

A portal had been opened.

Loki peered out from where he lay, hidden by the rocks and almost buried by the mounds of snow, he dared not to make any rash or sudden movements that would betray his presence. His eyes fell on the silhouettes of the tall figures masked by a fog, they had appeared at the centre of the clearing by summoning the elements. It was a complicated but of sorcery, its nuances all the more precarious the greater the distance of travel becomes. Loki thought it unlikely that they had traveled from afar. From their great towering build he had no trouble identifying them as Frost Giants, at least three of them, exiting a makeshift caravan tethered to a group of lizard-like creatures in chains. They appeared small and frail to him, hardly the ideal beast for such terrain. They were therefore prisoners, put to use to be pushed to their limit until their energy was all but exhausted. Their burial would be conducted by the snow, Loki thought grimly, looking them over with what was the semblance of pity.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The racing wind began to subside after the caravan had come to a stop, having arrived at its destination. Loki's gaze darted back and forth from the Frost Giants to their scaled servants, both drawing his interest in equal amounts. The giants received orders in their mother tongue, a gruff muttering, a slurred hissing, as if their tongues had grown numb from the cold. Another two brutes exited the caravan, their bare feet landing on the ground with a thud. On their backs their supplies was secured, on one Loki could see the glistening blade of a polished axe, though slightly scratched and chipped with use. From what could be deciphered, they seemed to be there on the humble errand of chopping down pines. Nothing but a group of lumberjacks, as rambunctious as they may be. That offered Loki some relief, once they filled the caravan they would return to a town or city to sell what they had collected. The God of Mischief took in a deep breath before bringing himself to make a move. The pivotal moment had come.

Whispering an incantation into the wind, he brought the axe to rise in midair. Its blade appeared to come off its handle and spin like a disk, propelling itself into a tree trunk. The Frost Giants gazed in awe, the jaw of one of the brutes was gaping as the pine began to fall. Once the disk sliced through its first target like butter, it flew towards the creatures, the speed of its movement steady and threatening. To give them a good scare and just enough time to run, so was Loki's aim. Two of the giants stumbled for the woods, keeping their heads bowed low. The others, however, feared their commander more than they feared death, so it seemed. The leader of the troop held his ground, giving orders to lay low as he made an attempt to handle the situation. He stood on the defensive with a plank of wood used as a shield, gritting his teeth in anticipation for the disk to strike again.

Loki bit his lip in fear mingled with annoyance. They were supposed to run, the lot of them. He had not expected to see any so called heroes. He did not possess the strength, especially in his wearied state, to turn a Neanderthal's tool into a lethal weapon, though he knew such incantations were possible. At the moment the force necessary to bring down a tree in a single bound with his mind and the aid of archaic spells was beyond him. He could manage an illusion however. The giant had only to look and he would find the axe still in place in his sack of supplies, as authentic as Loki's replica was. The situation now called him to improvise.

The god summoned a storm, or rather a flurry of snow that whirled about the clearing like a miniature tornado. It all but served its purpose, distracting the giants long enough for him to dart from the safety of the rocks. Now that he was out in the open Loki had to act fast. He did not make way for second thoughts, he allowed not the briefest moment of hesitation before slitting the throat of one of the giants. The blade of his hatchet dripped with blood which he smeared onto his arm on a freshly made wound. He could now feign the scent and aura of the Frost Giant, creating a disguise that would adequately conceal him, hiding him in plain sight. The same could not be said for the giant whose shape Loki had acquired, the body nestled against a tree trunk, only to be found if one were looking. But who would be inclined to look for something that is not missing?

The whirlwind began to calm at which point Loki had to regain his composure, settle into his role. With stealth of hand he made another few slashes and tears before hiding the dagger underneath his clothes.

"What cursed trickery is this!" the chieftain growled, his body swerving to the left, then to the right as he strained to see in all directions at once, still on edge for another attack. His eyes then fell on his comrade and the stain of red calling attention to itself against its background of snow. The others were compelled to followed suit, their interest piqued by the sight of blood.

"Jarl!" one of the giants turned to Loki. "You are wounded!"

The God of Mischief strained to stay focused as four sets of crimson eyes scrutinized him. These were the vital few seconds that would establish him as friend or foe. Whether or not he could have himself passed off as a Frost Giant of the brigade was a matter of wit and chance. How he dreaded this moment, having already invested the last of his willpower towards unsavory tasks in slaying the distraught buffoon, now hunched over only a few meters away from the group. Oh how he prayed that the body would not be found.

"The foul axe!" Loki snarled, contorting his features into a scowl of menacing fury. "Whichever damned soul did this will pay with his life!" He held the interpretation of rage and contempt for the appraisal of the group, hoping that the theatrical threat of vengeance was on par with the character of Jarl.

Out of the corner of his eye, Loki could see the two cowards who had retreated make their way back to the clearing, their cumbersome bodies pushing past low branches. Then again, perhaps it was not fair to dub them as cowards but merely beings who valued their own lives. If the roles were reversed Loki would have surely ran. He had his wits about him as not to engage in needless bloodshed, his own blood that is. Loki would have run as fast as his legs would carry him, and the inclination to do so at the present only grew stronger.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Calm your tempers, now is not the time for vengeance," one of the giants spoke, taking his place at the side of the commander. He rested his hand on the other's shoulder and gave him a meaningful look. The chieftain, however, did not look at him, his jaws and his fists clenched tight, seething in forcefully suppressed rage. As a chained lion with its prey only inches away, making a mockery of him, how easily he could slit its throat. Oh but he'd never get the chance. How taken aback he was, how slighted he felt, it must be unbearable! An unseen enemy had gotten the better of him and what was there left for him to do but kick at thin air, without so much as a target to channel his rage on. Loki struggled to hold back a smirk from crossing his face. The creature reminded him of Thor in a way, though with a considerably greater amount of restraint, to his great surprise. He would certainly have to wait and see how the scenario would unravel, the God of Mischief was determined play his part well.

"Words of wisdom, spoken by a coward," another snarled, revealing a grin of teeth like talons.

"The so-called bravery which you prize walks a fine line with bravado," the younger one retorted. "You compete amongst yourselves like brutes, like animals!"

"You do not understand our ways, Sahka, never having fought a battle nor shed blood for your people," the giant growled, he was not used to being confronted by one of a lower rank, especially with the pretense of superior morals. "Yours is a fable of a common sort, a spoiled and callow youth is what you are. You did not have to earn your honor, it was given to you with your father's name. He would shake his head in disgust if he looked down at you now. You dare have scruples of—"

"Shara, that is quite enough," the chieftain intervened. "The setting sun will not wait for us."

Sahka and Shara exchanged threatening glares before slinking back to their opposite sides, joining allied comrades in their whispering. Loki looked pensive, uncertain as to which of the two Jarl would have aligned himself with. After a brief moment of hesitation, he eventually resolving to sympathize with Shara. This seemed to be his best bet, on the evidence of his prior show of rage going unquestioned, he would conclude that Jarl went in for fight and might

"Gather close warriors," the commander addressed his men, drawing a line in the snow to encircle them. A work of perfect symmetry, by the looks of it. "We are returning to the village. We must report this immediately and come back once better armed. I cannot risk losing any more men in this search. Indeed the legends passed through the towns hold truth, an unknown force lurks in these woods," his tone was somber and ominous, though the subject sounded like the beginning of a campfire tale. Nevertheless it piqued Loki's curiosity, it appeared that someone else was making short work of the Frost Giants, likely by use of sorcery. He was satisfied to hear that the matter would be investigated, and better yet, not by himself.

Loki kept within the borders of the spell circle, quite pleased with himself. His plan appeared to have worked. As long as none of the giants questioned him further, he would be safe among their ranks. That is, until they reached the village. Then another challenged would present itself. He would have to figure out a way to break from the group without being missed. Some sort of diversion would have to be created, which the god resolved to plot along the way. Loki watched as the chieftain whispered into the wind, an ancient tongue which was only vaguely familiar. There were many branches of sorcery, and although that of the Frost Giant tribes did not span far he had not applied himself to learn it aptly. Norse incantations was the area in which he specialized.

Loki strained to hold the illusion of his form as his body was struck by paralyzing cold. All around him he could see the grimacing faces of the others, circling him like tribal masks in a flurry of ice and snow. It was most unnerving. He was flung about in a whirlwind, a menacing howl ringing in his ears as he was buffeted by wind. Loki could clearly see why such a method of transportation had not become widespread among the Frost Giant tribes, or any other creature not in dire desperation. The archaic spells weaved themselves in strange ways with one's mind, working amid its darkest chasms to carry the soul and the body along with it. They were dangerously unstable at times, so he had read, if they were not controlled by a sorcerer of strong will and expert knowledge, but also of precision. Each spell, no matter how basic it may first appear, ought to be treated with utmost delicacy, something many beings seemed to lack by nature.

The god tried to use this valuable time offered to him to assess his present circumstances. To consider the puzzles that had presented themselves to him. He had yet to confirm his guess as to the purpose of the group's journey, perhaps they were not mere workmen, but scouts. Their leader had mentioned that they were in search of something, so he recalled with great certainty. And what was this creature, this force, that threatened them? A hoax such as his own, perhaps to secure a patch of territory by tactics of fear, or an act by something with true power? He would have to remain attentive to the trinkets of trivial gossip that he happened to overhear. A town inns would be a treasure trove for such information.

**_Thank you to everyone for reading and reviewing. It really keeps me motivated to continue this story. I hope you enjoy this chapter and the ones to come! I appreciate any feedback you might have._**

**-Charlie R.**


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